


Theseus' Ship

by War_of_the_Words



Series: Player 2 [15]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Experimental?, Gen, One Shot, Personification, it's written from L'manburg's pov, just trust me, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:08:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29479707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/War_of_the_Words/pseuds/War_of_the_Words
Summary: It is supposed that the famous ship sailed by the hero Theseus in a great battle was kept in a harbor as a museum piece, and as the years went by some of the wooden parts began to rot and were replaced by new ones; then, after a century or so, every part had been replaced. The question then is if the "restored" ship is still the same object as the original.
Series: Player 2 [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/586123
Kudos: 1





	Theseus' Ship

**Author's Note:**

> This was written because I a) am still not over Doomsday and b) thought the song "Theseus" by the Oh Hellos fit the narrative of L'manburg.

Land is just land. It is the meaning people assign to it that gives it life. 

And the land  _ is  _ alive. It feels so many things, and it loves its people as long as its people love it. The day the wilderness is tamed is the day that bonds are formed. As long as those bonds are cherished and nurtured, the land will prosper.

A small valley and a river leading to the sea, that is where the land was christened with the name L’manburg. It was said with a laugh by some boys far too young for the responsibility they were about to bear. They wanted to sell drugs. That was what the land was first claimed for. It’s first building, it’s first home a front for a slightly nefarious service. But L’manburg was soon given its true intentions. The hopes and dreams of these young men filled the land with life. It’s new purpose was to be a safe haven, a home for those who felt oppressed by the rest of the server. A land where no armour would be worn and battles would be fought with words instead of swords; that was what gave birth to the nation of L’manburg.

And life came with song. Not yet the anthem it was destined to become, but it was the beginning. Cheerful voices welcomed L’manburg alongside the gentle rain.

L’manburg was happy for the walls its people built. They were meant to keep its people safe from those who sought to go against L’manburg’s ideals. The outsiders sought violence, and their desire for blood was unquenchable. Far too soon, the violence found its way onto L’manburg’s soil. It was regrettable, but L’manburg’s people had to go against their ideals in order to survive. In order to achieve L’manburg’s independence. If the enemy would not speak, the weapons would have to.

Blood fell into L’manburg, slipping beneath the earth and causing the land to weep for its young inhabitants. Their home was ripped from them for the first time. Explosives tore holes into the foundations and ripped apart the one place of shelter the revolutionaries had. L’manburg was scarred, the young nation mirroring it’s people. 

Once someone calls somewhere “home”, it’s tied to them for life. And only a handful of people decided to call that tiny valley home. It hurt like Hell when L’manburg felt one of the few people it had tear off his connection to his country, denounce its ideals, and hand over the others to the enemy. It felt like a fire, eating the soul from the inside out. “The Traitor”. Of course L’manburg knew all of its people, but calling the traitor by his name would only keep the wound open longer. L’manburg had truly thought he loved L’manburg. He had built the walls up around L’manburg to keep his fellow citizens safe, and he had agreed with L’manburg’s ideals. But in the young nation’s naivete, it had overlooked the traitor’s desire for power, never thinking that betrayal would come.

And still, the remaining children of L’manburg fought on. After so many days of battle and so many injuries, L’manburg knew when its youngest fell to the hands of the enemy. It was different then the injuries before it. The youngest got back up, but L’manburg could feel that it had taken something from him. But the youngest member of L’manburg never slowed down. He was outmatched, he had lost his battle, so he turned to the foundations of L’manburg.

With words, not violence, L’manburg became free. The sun rose over the young nation and warmed its bloodstained soil, but as its young president stood on the ruins of the first hearth and declared their victory, L’manburg believed the future was bright. It’s citizens began to repair the devastation of war. L’manburg healed, but it could never go back to the days before those opposing it forced them into bloodshed.

It’s people were different too. Forced to participate by the outsiders rules, it stung whenever the people L’manburg loved gave in to the violence they swore to avoid. It’s young president knew he had to regain the faith of his nation. 

He decided on an election. L’manburg knew that there was a seed of corruption planted in his heart. It knew what it meant when he tried to prevent anyone else from running. That’s why it brought the country hope when an outsider of all people decided to intervene. Although he wasn’t one of L’manburg’s children, if the outsider cared so much about holding L’manburg true to its ideals, the country was more than willing to welcome a newcomer into its arms.

It was a fleeting wish. The nation could feel when the power changed hands, it could feel the panic and terror of its founders. The eldest and the youngest, those who shaped L’manburg the most were chased out of the country. Those left could only share in the fear the land felt for its future. Almost more painful was when it felt the vile man dig his hands into the heart of the nation and rip its true name away from it. No longer was the name of the land L’manburg. The name it had been blessed with, the name it had been given with light hearted laughter and love, was removed from its soul and it was labeled “Manburg”. The land wanted to riot against this man. To rip open and swallow him whole. What right did this outsider have to change history? He knew nothing of the blood that lay dried and rotting in its earth; he knew nothing of the scars the land bore, barely hidden under new soil. 

But land was simply land. Humans could never know how it felt, how much it mourned the loss of its children.

“Manburg” was forced to feel its citizens' pain, to feel their despair. For land that was claimed in the name of freedom, for land that was given a song about the release from tyranny, it was crippled from its new leader’s regime. Only the dwindling hope of its citizens for the return of the founder kept it alive.

And return the eldest did, with an army by his side. Even the traitor returned to restore the land to what it should be. And for the briefest moment, when those who were outcast won back their country and returned L’manburg’s name, the land felt it could once again prosper. The bond it shared with its oldest and youngest had been restored. They were safe, they were home.

But they were oh so different. L’manburg could feel the youngest’s hesitation, lurking just beneath his immense joy. Oh, the sweet child, he brought so much joy to L’manburg. But the eldest... 

In his absence, L’manburg could sense that the seed of corruption had blossomed into something unredeemable. L’manburg’s joy was quickly swallowed by pain once more. In an instant, the land was subjected to two horrors. The first, an outsider far worse than all those before him. He held no malice towards L’manburg’s people, no, he hated L’manburg itself. He wanted nothing more than to see L’manburg be stripped of its name forever, to become nothing more than a memory, to die.

More painful, more terrible than the anarchist who was about to unleash Hell upon the battered and bruised, was the moment L’manburg lost its eldest forever. The searing pain of bombs once again ripping up the earth was almost bearable compared to the swarm of emotions that followed. The crazed words pierced deep into L’manburg’s heart. If he couldn’t have L’manburg, no one could. And in the brief moment of silence, as L’manburg tried to make sense of its new wounds, another scar was placed upon its body. 

Sadness. 

Horror. 

Regret. 

New blood pooled onto the stones of L’manburg. The blood of a leader. The blood of a founder. The blood of a friend. The blood of a brother. The blood of a musician. For the first time in the history of the land, not just L’manburg but all of the server, a life faded.

“The only universal language is violence”. Those were the words that seemed to echo across the ruins of L’manburg. What the screams of its citizens seemed to mean as they fought off the beasts of destruction. That was never what L’manburg was meant to be, but had the citizens of L’manburg truly known anything else? Maybe it was L’manburg that had to change. To replace the nation’s foundations with something its citizens could more whole-heartedly believe in, even if that meant total deviation from where it began.

In the somber day that followed that terrible night, L’manburg’s new leader, a child, one that held the most hope for L’manburg’s future, another one whose blood couldn’t be washed away, set to work on patching L’manburg’s wounds. Unlike the first time, this new earth could never hide the scars of battle. And the young president embraced it, and swore to never let the nation forget lest they repeat history.

Soon after, more hands appeared to help heal. Each slowly figuring out how to once more make a house a home. One pair of hands was the most gentle. They were cold, and they shook, but they were kind. 

Like L’manburg, the eldest was nothing like he once was, maybe he wasn’t even the eldest at all, but he still loved L’manburg like L’manburg loved him. He created new hearths for L’manburg’s citizens to return to; he did all the heavy lifting so that the citizens would have some place to rest. And once that job was done, he wrote down and collected L’manburg’s stories. He kept L’manburg’s history safe so that the future would never forget the terror L’manburg had faced.

But the tension never left L’manburg. The pain it’s citizens felt was too much. Some grew distant from the land they once called home while others let their emotions turn to anger. The youngest, always too full of emotions, found himself in trouble once more. Oh, how L’manburg longed to be able to keep him out of trouble. To remind him that he still had a home there he could return to and be at peace. But no matter how much L’manburg loved its youngest, it could do nothing as he was once again cast out. L’manburg had been held hostage, and its young president was forced to make a decision no child should ever have to make. It didn’t hold that against him, but it didn’t mean it didn’t ache. L’manburg’s pain was only eased with the knowledge that the ghost of the eldest followed after him, a small piece of L’manburg to keep him company.

And it was so long before the youngest returned. And in that time the lingering hatred that burned inside L’manburg’s citizens only grew. The leadership invited violence onto their land, chose blood over L’manburg’s ideals. Of course L’manburg was bitter towards the anarchist who had aided in the country’s destruction, but that didn’t mean it craved revenge. The devastated land knew far to well that violence only begets more violence. But a cage was still built on L’manburg soil, freedom stripped away from someone trying to change. That was the same day its eldest had returned. His spirit was weary, he had been away from home for too long. Instead of a gentle warmth, he had returned to a raging fire. The poor ghost only knew L’manburg as the foundations he had helped establish so he was only left with confusion when he saw evidence of terror.

But that day did nothing to quell the rotting desire inside of the L’manburg cabinet. Their hatred festered and bubbled and left a sick feeling in the heart of the land. It was forced to watch history repeat itself as L’manburg was once again dressed in decorations for murder.

How traitorous they were. More than the original traitor ever was. Did they not understand what the foundations of their nation were made of? Were they unaware of what the hole in the earth represented? They rebuilt their nation, but to what extent? Could they even remember it as it first was?

As expected, their festival did not end well. At least it brought L’manburg’s youngest home. He was so different then before. He was tired, so tired. And afraid. And lonely. But he still loved L’manburg like L’manburg loved him. He was finally home and L’manburg was ready to welcome him with open arms. If only the citizens felt the same.

And L’manburg could feel their trepidation. The anticipation of something coming. This was not a new feeling among the citizens, and L’manburg knew it well. The feeling of destruction looming over the horizon. But L’manburg had always felt the resolve of its people alongside it, and it gave L’manburg hope that they could make it through. Not this time, however. Their will to fight was so weak that it was practically nonexistent. And, not for the first time, L’manburg felt its children turn away from the nation. However, even the original traitor never felt a hatred toward the nation, this betrayal did. 

That was the moment L’manburg knew it was destined to die. If only it didn’t have to be so painful.

They were too powerful. Three people, too many explosives, and the heartlessness of those that L’manburg had sheltered. It was a pain the land had never known. It must have been the same pain the eldest felt, in his final moments. Watching as his loved ones had to watch his life fade away. A sword clean through the chest, decimation all the way to bedrock. Dirt, stone, minerals, all nothing in the wake of bored, vengeful, hateful people. And in the end, all L’manburg had was two. The children, L’manburg’s only children, had clung to the place they called home till the end. They tried their hardest to do what they had done before. But what good are words when they fall on deaf ears? How can they communicate when their blood is spilled before they can finish their sentence?

And in L’manburg’s final moments, as L’manburg’s last children huddled in the last place of shelter, the first hearth that cemented L’manburg as a home, maybe, just maybe, the land thought that it might be its fault. Its fault it couldn’t provide more for its people. Its fault it wasn’t worth fighting for. Its fault it failed to let its citizens feel at peace and call it Home.

The dying wasn’t so bad. At some point all of the pain and the explosions became numb. The noise, too, faded. The sound of explosions faded into white noise. Would L’manburg even be remembered now? As almost every single person it had ever loved and nurtured turned away? Would its history be told to the world without the bias of the victors? Or would the hole in the earth simply be used as a tool to keep the next generation in line? Surely none of L’manburg’s traitorous people thought about saving the books from its eldest’s library. But, oh, at least for now there would be someone to remember L’manburg. 

The journey into nothingness wasn’t too terrible. L’manburg couldn’t feel pain anymore, so it had plenty of time to focus on other things, like what beautiful colors the setting sun turned the sky. And as L’manburg witnessed its final sunset, it could hear its love song one more time, echoing off of the crumbling stone with voices more powerful than any piece of TNT ever could be. From birth till death L’manburg was graced with song.

  
  
  
  
  
  


I heard there was a special  place,

Where  men  could go emancipate,

The brutality

and the  tyranny of their rulers.

  
  


...

  
  
  


And from everywhere from here up to forever

We sing L’manburg

We sing L’manbu

We sing L’man

We sing


End file.
